Thursday, March 8, 2012

Dear Mike Rowe: Please Marry Me

 


Dear Mike,

Please marry me. 

I realize I would have been better off posting this on 2/29, when it is tradition for women to propose to men, but what can I say? I'm slow on the uptake sometimes. Please don't let that be a factor in deciding whether or not to accept my proposal. Because while I may fall short in some areas, I more than make up for it in others, as outlined below:

1. I graduated from college. Okay, okay, I know that doesn't mean a whole helluva lot today, where pretty much a trained monkey can get a college degree, so let me add that I can also string entire sentences together, I can count to at least 157, and I know how to say, "Hello" in Spanish. (Hola!) This meets at least one criterion in Mr. Darcy's definition of an "accomplished woman," which will reflect well on you if you choose to take me on as a wife (He's the expert!). I'm here to make you look good, man.

2. I'm 28, which means I'm young, but I'm not that young. Marrying me won't make you a full-on cradle-robber. When people find out we got married, they'll ask you, "Wow, she looks young! How old is she?" and then you'll be all, "She's 28," and then they'll be like, "Oh. Well, she's almost 30, so that's cool. Mazel tov. [except I'm Catholic]." In other words, people won't think you're a creepy old man if you choose to marry me.

3. I live in the Bay Area. Just not YOUR Bay Area. But what's a technicality between friends (and future spouses)? We both live in cities near water, and that's enough of a commonality. Steve Perry could just as easily have been singing about Tampa in that song.

4. I won't mooch off you. Promise. Mike, I am an independent woman, and that wouldn't stop just because we got married. I am happily employed, and I'm not planning to quit my job any time soon. Well, I would have to quit my job if I were to move to your Bay Area, but then I'd get another one. What I'm trying to say here is that I wouldn't just sit around our home eating bon bons and spending your hard-earned money buying myself pretty things. I can do that with my own money.

So you may be asking yourself, why would a girl like me want to marry a guy like you? Well, for one, you're hot. Sorry. It had to be said. I watch Dirty Jobs to look at your face. The fact that it happens to be entertaining and educational is just icing on top of the cake. If you were to star in a show where all you did was stare out a window for sixty straight minutes, I'd watch that too. I don't care. If your face is featured, I'm watching.

You also look like the type of guy who could wrestle a bear, build a ship from scratch, make love to your woman, and fight a band of ninjas ALL AT THE SAME TIME AND BEFORE YOU HAVE YOUR MORNING CUP OF COFFEE. In other words, you look like a manly man, a rugged prince, a badass. It doesn't matter if you can't actually do any of that; you just look like you can, and that's really what counts. And in a state where it seems all that's available is any one of the following: